People are asking: Is the mother of octuplets – on top of (literally!) her other 6 kids – a “Motherholic”?
Instead, I would say this is "Birth-aholisism" if anything. To mother is to raise, protect, care for, educate, cherish. This woman hasn't shown that desire as far as I can see. She's into having -- owning -- making babies. Giving birth and creating many babies. It does seem like an addiction.
What concerns me more is our comparisons to the old days and in poorer countries where large amounts of children were/are common. In rural areas, the more hands to work the land the better.
This is not her case! In fact, it is not the case anymore in many countries like the US because our means of production have changed. Because America is fully capitalist.
We don't give birth anymore to "potential workers for our household."
We give birth to wage slaves. We give birth to future consumers who'll cry out for more gadgets, more take-out, more cable channels. We give birth to more Americans who will need to PURCHASE their food, their health, their education, their clothes. No amount of children will assist a household in creating, producing that stuff anymore.
"More kids" does not result in "More food harvested" anymore. "More kids" no longer means your family creates more product. In America 2009 it means higher and higher demand for more energy consumption, more electronic toys, more food to eat, more land taken from endangered species, more imbalance. And more demand for others to help you.
Is this the kind of economy where people should be asked or expected to assist such extreme need? Born of total self-obsessed disregard for the struggles of most Americans already?? Which is still a drop in the bucket considering the enormity of the WORLD food crisis? Rioting around the world last year over the lack of FOOD?
A few years after Hurricane Katrina/Bush, we still haven't been able to get all those devastated families back on their feet. THEIR situations, loss, suffering are due to a catastrophe brought on NOT by their own making but government policy. Why should anyone feel compelled to assist someone in raising 14 children that were PURPOSELY produced for one adult alone? Is it considered a true "need" if you can't care for kids you brought here on purpose, knowing your lack of resources?
And would it have been any better if this were a wealthy family? Tough question for some. I'd say it still doesn't solve the issue of creating more humans needing resources that could be put elsewhere -- for humans ALREADY in need, due to no fault or choice of their own.
I propose these names for the Miracle 8:
GameBoy
Pampers
DayCare
McDonald's ("Mac" for short)
SoccerUniform ("Su" for short)
PhysicalTherapy ("PT," for theyears of special services many of these babies will need)
DesignerJeans ("DJ")
Papparotzi ("Papi."
Since they'll all grow up in a fishbowl, they may as well get used to cameras and Insider Edition reporters. They can thank their self-absorbed mom for that later. Maybe when one grows up and sues her for the cost of decades of therapy. Paris Hilton, move over...)
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Octuplets, Oh My!
Fine print first: I'm a single mom with no family nearby except my ex husband, and our son has special needs. Thus I am always going to be quick to say, "It can be much harder than you imagine to raise a child." I hoped for two, had one that was challenging, then separated and said, "Wow, this is really all i can handle if I wish to do justice to this child that I CHOSE to bring to Earth." So he's an Only.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, some folks think about "having babies" and their right to do so -- without ever considering they are actually "raising children towards adulthood" and taking on huge responsibilities. Thirteen-year old girls in record numbers want to have a baby -- some are even MORE short-sighted and say they want a "baby BUMP" like Jamie Lynn Spears. They never say they want to "bring another human onto the Earth" or "raise a child for 18 years to become a great world citizen." I have heard people say they plan to have 4 or 5 "because i can." WTF kinda attitude is that?!
One of my biggest complaints about mainstream American culture and ideology is that we are taught to scream for our "rights" -- while ignoring the responsibilities that logically are married to those rights. "My right to freedom of speech" to many Americans means they can spout off mindlessly or insult anyone. What about their responsibility to use their voice for the good of humanity in ways small and large? To speak truth? To spread kindness and honesty with that voice? Is that what motivates our most vocal "free speech advocates" like Larry Flynt or "Mancow"?
Similarly the debates about things like family planning seem to focus on EITHER rights OR responsibilities. And of course that very American concept of "It's none of your business!" If someone wishes to collect dozens of Care Bears I say go nuts. You don't need to justify that, as the Bears are not dependent upon you to provide their human needs and protect their human rights. Seeing as they are not human...
However, having a baby on THIS planet means you don't just GET something. You become the primary agent through which the child's rights must be protected and needs must be met. And simply by being born, those little humans HAVE RIGHTS. So if you cannot protect those rights, including meeting basic human needs, in my opinion you do NOT have the right to bring them here as dependents of yours.
Call me a communist, but why should such a big decision that involves adding citizens to our human community become suddenly a completely private matter? Why SHOULDN'T people counsel and critique this decision? It is, in fact, OUR planet that has just gotten a tiny bit heavier. And hungrier.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, some folks think about "having babies" and their right to do so -- without ever considering they are actually "raising children towards adulthood" and taking on huge responsibilities. Thirteen-year old girls in record numbers want to have a baby -- some are even MORE short-sighted and say they want a "baby BUMP" like Jamie Lynn Spears. They never say they want to "bring another human onto the Earth" or "raise a child for 18 years to become a great world citizen." I have heard people say they plan to have 4 or 5 "because i can." WTF kinda attitude is that?!
One of my biggest complaints about mainstream American culture and ideology is that we are taught to scream for our "rights" -- while ignoring the responsibilities that logically are married to those rights. "My right to freedom of speech" to many Americans means they can spout off mindlessly or insult anyone. What about their responsibility to use their voice for the good of humanity in ways small and large? To speak truth? To spread kindness and honesty with that voice? Is that what motivates our most vocal "free speech advocates" like Larry Flynt or "Mancow"?
Similarly the debates about things like family planning seem to focus on EITHER rights OR responsibilities. And of course that very American concept of "It's none of your business!" If someone wishes to collect dozens of Care Bears I say go nuts. You don't need to justify that, as the Bears are not dependent upon you to provide their human needs and protect their human rights. Seeing as they are not human...
However, having a baby on THIS planet means you don't just GET something. You become the primary agent through which the child's rights must be protected and needs must be met. And simply by being born, those little humans HAVE RIGHTS. So if you cannot protect those rights, including meeting basic human needs, in my opinion you do NOT have the right to bring them here as dependents of yours.
Call me a communist, but why should such a big decision that involves adding citizens to our human community become suddenly a completely private matter? Why SHOULDN'T people counsel and critique this decision? It is, in fact, OUR planet that has just gotten a tiny bit heavier. And hungrier.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Making Plans (and homeschooling)
I wasn't even out of bed yet. It's easy to be depressed waking up alone on New Year's Day, for the 6th year in a row. But J. had a plan about how to enjoy my rudimentary schedule of get dressed / go feed friends' cats / go to the cat shelter for an hour to feed THEM / then get Pop-eye's and go home. He remembered there's a Wendy's by the shelter. So he brought this page to me -- off his SchoolWork area in the kitchen. He drew a french fry (the square thingy) and beside it, the number 12. He explained that means we should buy 12 french fries. Beside it is a chicken nugget and he drew a number 4, saying we should buy 4 nuggets. Then he made a line between the nugget and the 4. "I'm making my fraction.
He asked if I knew how to get to Wendy's and I said yes. Then he said the cow was our house and Wendy's was at the bottom, and he drew the "map" to show me. Just in case.
Words can't share how happy this makes me. He's catching up academically, and in the best way possible -- through meaningful experiences and then repeted opportunities to practice those skills.
It's enough to make a mama actually smile and get out of bed. Ready to stare a New Year dead in the eye, and say, "Bring it on!"
Friday, December 26, 2008
Umoja! (First day of Kwanzaa)
To celebrate Unity on this first night of Kwanzaa, usually we light the first candle, I sing my little song of the Nguzo Saba, Darius tries to pay attention and J either keeps talking about something else or he squirms to get down to business and eat.
This year hasn't been so "banner," especially since my job decided that a way to make their business ends meet when their revenue dried up in November was to stop paying the workers. So I haven't been paid for the last month. Thus I'm exhausted from the extra work it takes to make gifts for almost everyone instead of just buying stuff -- plus several events going out to sell my African skin care products and clothing.
But I am very excited about our growth since last Kwanzaa. Our living room has only 3 out of a billion gifts opened: the rest sit patiently, still wrapped, left for another day's greedy fingers. Because suddenly my child has become more excited about people and interactions, about building and problem-solving, then just having a bunch of stuff. I'm so proud I'm in shock. Or that could be the sleep deprivation..?
So we built our first marble run tonight, together. Sure, the tv was on. And there was no elaborate prayer or song at mealtime. But I honor Umoja (Unity) tonight. J and I seem to be cooperating more as a team lately -- real give and take, real problem-solving together.
Of course I still sometimes have to drag him off the computer for dinner etc. But our creation tonight, of wood and grooves and a marble, is about our finding the balance in this team. I can be responsible and in charge, yet he has the freedom to input and to challenge anything that feels really wrong to him. This safety seems to be increasing his creativity. Motor-planning, schmotor schmanning! For once, he took on an open-ended toy and saw possibilities instead of its lack of steps. And I let him try and fail and try again, while being there with him enjoying his company. In Unity.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Let's Redefine "Brave"
Chicago Parent magazine ran an article in August that I've been meaning to read -- yup, sitting with the headline face up on the "Read Me, Dammit!" section of the kitchen counter all this time. The article, in the 'In my shoes' section, was called "Three On The Spectrum" and written by a local single mother of three young boys, all on the autism spectrum. Of course I wanted to hear what this kindred soul had to share, since I am single-parenting myself (AND single-parenting a son with what our therapists call "spectrumy behavior." LOL.)
I quickly realized I was more angry than comforted by the perspective. In the interest of sowing unity through valid, respectful critique (because my blog ain't no Jerry Springer show!) I'll target the part that most bothered me, and I'll reset the terms as I see them myself.
Her article begins and ends with the concept of being Brave. I'd like to talk about what Brave means to me, as another single-parent with a special needs young child.
I'm brave because I chose to stop at having one child -- despite pressure from all sides, well-intentioned to be sure. I felt that when I became comfortable knowing what my child needed, knowing basically how to go about getting it, and having the resources to make it happen (including seeing my young marriage beginning to turn around towards strength and growth) -- when I had all these things within reach, I'd be ready to receive Child Number Two from the Universe. But this marriage was too unstable, and this child too unique in needs to plan for. I never reached the point of feeling I had it in hand enough to add another life to my responsibilities. So I stopped after my first child. No apoligies, no regrets.
I'm brave because, like Jennifer W., I have raised this new love most of his life -- as a single parent. His father and I split up (into 2 homes, finally) when baby was 9 months. I had returned to work at 3 months, and have struggled to work to support a home for the two of us ever since. When Daddy has been blessed with steady work, he pays for one of J's two schools and we get some child support. I am enormously grateful to not have to chase him for it. It roughly covers groceries and puts gas in the car. Rent, the other school, and the rest of Life are on me.
I'm brave because when people invite us to "typical childhood experiences" I'm able to evaluate it solely on it's benefit or harm to MY son. I'm brave enough to turn down Trick Or Treating. And Chuck E. Cheese's. And Great America. I'm strong enough to risk being unpopular with my ex by saying why I don't want HIM taking our child to Chuck E. Cheese's EITHER.
I'm brave enough to accept that if they DO go against my wishes, J. will recover from any melt-downs. And the subsequent week of disregulation. I'm blessed enough to have married a man who usually does take these urgings seriously, often agreeing in the end.
I'm brave because before I take my son anywhere alone, I try to imagine the safety challenges we'll face, and if my own two hands and one strong voice aren't enough to keep him safe, WE WON'T GO.
I leave groceries in the car, even if they may melt, rather than take my hand off him if he's close to losing it.
If I'm out and he slips out of sight, I don't hope someone will appear and help. I TELL somebody to help. And most other mothers WILL, often without being asked (depending on the culture/community you are in. At a mainly African-American gathering, 99% of adults will tell you if your child is getting into trouble.)
I was once performing at a favorite venue where no one stepped up to help me when J. wandered off. I don't perform there anymore without a firm commitment of EXACTLY WHO will watch my son while I'm onstage. I'm brave like that, too.
I sit on the curb with him strapped in his carseat, even if he needs me close -- rather than risk D.W.C. (Driving While Crying) because he just punched me in the face and smashed a toy at the car window hard enough to break it.
I'm brave because I understand this isn't about ME surviving the rocks in this road. It's about giving my son what he needs to the best of my ability. I'm not leaving it up to chance that he doesn't get kidnapped or hit by a car.
I'm brave enough to put my artist career on hold instead of bounce J. around with babysitters while I gig. I'm brave enough to take a menial, unhealthy, filty, smelly job with sporadic bouts of insinuations from my boss that I am stupid -- in order to keep my son in a part-time (EXTREMELY parttime!) therapeutic program with shifting schedules and a million meetings. I'm brave enough to keep my head up without girls nights out, red wine, or clothes shopping.
I don't really even care if I seem brave to anyone or not. I just want to be the Mars I was born to be, and help my boy be the one HE was born to be. Yeah, the world doesn't always see either of us for the gifts we bring. We will bring them anyway. That's why we're here.
I quickly realized I was more angry than comforted by the perspective. In the interest of sowing unity through valid, respectful critique (because my blog ain't no Jerry Springer show!) I'll target the part that most bothered me, and I'll reset the terms as I see them myself.
Her article begins and ends with the concept of being Brave. I'd like to talk about what Brave means to me, as another single-parent with a special needs young child.
I'm brave because I chose to stop at having one child -- despite pressure from all sides, well-intentioned to be sure. I felt that when I became comfortable knowing what my child needed, knowing basically how to go about getting it, and having the resources to make it happen (including seeing my young marriage beginning to turn around towards strength and growth) -- when I had all these things within reach, I'd be ready to receive Child Number Two from the Universe. But this marriage was too unstable, and this child too unique in needs to plan for. I never reached the point of feeling I had it in hand enough to add another life to my responsibilities. So I stopped after my first child. No apoligies, no regrets.
I'm brave because, like Jennifer W., I have raised this new love most of his life -- as a single parent. His father and I split up (into 2 homes, finally) when baby was 9 months. I had returned to work at 3 months, and have struggled to work to support a home for the two of us ever since. When Daddy has been blessed with steady work, he pays for one of J's two schools and we get some child support. I am enormously grateful to not have to chase him for it. It roughly covers groceries and puts gas in the car. Rent, the other school, and the rest of Life are on me.
I'm brave because when people invite us to "typical childhood experiences" I'm able to evaluate it solely on it's benefit or harm to MY son. I'm brave enough to turn down Trick Or Treating. And Chuck E. Cheese's. And Great America. I'm strong enough to risk being unpopular with my ex by saying why I don't want HIM taking our child to Chuck E. Cheese's EITHER.
I'm brave enough to accept that if they DO go against my wishes, J. will recover from any melt-downs. And the subsequent week of disregulation. I'm blessed enough to have married a man who usually does take these urgings seriously, often agreeing in the end.
I'm brave because before I take my son anywhere alone, I try to imagine the safety challenges we'll face, and if my own two hands and one strong voice aren't enough to keep him safe, WE WON'T GO.
I leave groceries in the car, even if they may melt, rather than take my hand off him if he's close to losing it.
If I'm out and he slips out of sight, I don't hope someone will appear and help. I TELL somebody to help. And most other mothers WILL, often without being asked (depending on the culture/community you are in. At a mainly African-American gathering, 99% of adults will tell you if your child is getting into trouble.)
I was once performing at a favorite venue where no one stepped up to help me when J. wandered off. I don't perform there anymore without a firm commitment of EXACTLY WHO will watch my son while I'm onstage. I'm brave like that, too.
I sit on the curb with him strapped in his carseat, even if he needs me close -- rather than risk D.W.C. (Driving While Crying) because he just punched me in the face and smashed a toy at the car window hard enough to break it.
I'm brave because I understand this isn't about ME surviving the rocks in this road. It's about giving my son what he needs to the best of my ability. I'm not leaving it up to chance that he doesn't get kidnapped or hit by a car.
I'm brave enough to put my artist career on hold instead of bounce J. around with babysitters while I gig. I'm brave enough to take a menial, unhealthy, filty, smelly job with sporadic bouts of insinuations from my boss that I am stupid -- in order to keep my son in a part-time (EXTREMELY parttime!) therapeutic program with shifting schedules and a million meetings. I'm brave enough to keep my head up without girls nights out, red wine, or clothes shopping.
I don't really even care if I seem brave to anyone or not. I just want to be the Mars I was born to be, and help my boy be the one HE was born to be. Yeah, the world doesn't always see either of us for the gifts we bring. We will bring them anyway. That's why we're here.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Tag Me. I Want You To.
Like Christina, it seems to rarely be about me around here.
October = J's school closed 2 out of 5 days each week. And I of course still have to work.
November = open houses for first grade school candidates.
December = family expectations, J's birthday, Darius' birthday, and more days off school to figure out so i can still work....
Oddly enough, this week seems to be a LOT about me. I'm debating a job offer AND a 'response offer' from my CURRENT boss to keep me from leaving. I wish they could do a Candidates Debate, and I could let the audience decide for me. I'm too tired to figure it out -- and I've only got two more days to decide.)
Maybe I'll set up a poll and let my readers choose!
Yeah, both of 'em. That'll work. Probably have a tie.
October = J's school closed 2 out of 5 days each week. And I of course still have to work.
November = open houses for first grade school candidates.
December = family expectations, J's birthday, Darius' birthday, and more days off school to figure out so i can still work....
Oddly enough, this week seems to be a LOT about me. I'm debating a job offer AND a 'response offer' from my CURRENT boss to keep me from leaving. I wish they could do a Candidates Debate, and I could let the audience decide for me. I'm too tired to figure it out -- and I've only got two more days to decide.)
Maybe I'll set up a poll and let my readers choose!
Yeah, both of 'em. That'll work. Probably have a tie.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Tuesday Oct 7, 2008.
12:00 am: Continue kneading playdough batches in 3 colors for the Tuesday afternoon special needs class
12:45 am. Stop being a perfectionist and let the dang red batch just be pink already. Gender stereotypes, go away!
1:00 am. Email Stagecoach principal and NSSRA contact with report on last week’s class, and my progress in finding an assistant (miraculous since it pays $10/class.) Hide anger that neither of them were there at all last week to support or observe, despite it being in a remote location with several safety issues. Also hide anger that I was never given a curriculum for the classes so I’ve spent weeks over days over hours researching “performing arts for special needs” plus lesson planning plus material collecting (and cooking. See “12:00 entry.)
1:26 am. Write parent of my son’s classmate with details about her coming to the NSSRA class as my regular assistant.
1:34 am. Write Tracy with details of our pick-up arrangement for Jelani Tues evening.
2:30ish am. Give up on reading all the evil there is to know about Sarah Palin and turn in.
7:30 am. Get up. The usual morning routine – dressing, feeding cats, cleaning litter boxes, a sudoku while on the toilet, preparing breakfasts and lunches to go for both J. and myself. Plus packing all the materials for the NSSRA class with a change of clothes (can’t teach class in filthy cat hair smeared scrubs.) Change plans several times of what else is needed since it is raining, and J. will be walking outside quite a bit mid-day.
9:30 am. Carry a most reluctant J. (whom I dressed manually) and both our backpacks plus 4 bags of materials for class down 3 flights of stairs, along with the garbage to go out. Eventually stuff everything/body in (except the garbage) into the Clown Car, I mean Celica, and drive him to school. Arrive late as usual.
11:00ish am. Arrive at work to begin just under 4 hours (Blessed Be! A short day!) of cage cleaning, floor sweeping and mopping (“did you move all the furniture?”,) supply hauling (love those 20 and 40 pound bags of cat food and litter,) cleaning vomit and feces off couches, trying to avoid cross-contamination between various cat rooms and cages, pick up somebody else’s lunch and pay for it with my money, hoping to get reimbursed. Two different work sites is becoming the norm – with not enough time at the first to complete tasks before going to the other. The usual fun. For $10/hr. Don’t think I got directly yelled at, name-called or condescended to today. My two reminders about getting reimbursed for lunch go unanswered.
2:00 pm. Get a call from my assistant that she cannot start today due to car breakdown.
3:00 pm. Leave work to head up to Lake Forest/Highland Park border area for my class, cursing part of the way because I never got back the $20 I spent on the boss's (and her husband's) lunch. Downpour is causing crazy sluggishness, but I still arrive at 3:45pm for my 4:00 class. Sit in the car 10 minutes waiting for the administrator with keys to arrive, then realize the public bathroom is open so I can change my clothes in there while I wait. “Reinforcements arrive” at…
3:57 pm. I go inside to begin setting up the room – challenges include blocking an outside door to keep one child who likes to escape from succeeding; keeping my activity materials close at hand for quick transitions from one activity to the next (but without making things visible before ready to be used, since I have to wrestle my items out of one child’s hands over and over. End up wearing one of my backpacks DURING the class in order to keep some materials out of their reach until needed.)
5:00 pm. Start wrap-up activities with students. Despite playdough up someone’s nose, no assistant, and pouring rain, class went well this week. Most of the students can even name something they enjoyed today.
5:15 pm. Start packing up my 5 or 6 bags (of drums+ scarves + playdough + bingo + lions, tigers…) as students are picked up. Close up the room with the last child, and wait outside with him on the picnic benches a few moments till parent arrives. Traffic is horrid, she warns me.
5:25 pm. Just getting a taste of that horrid rain traffic. Wanting to call J’s afterschool program to see if he’s been picked up by Tracy, but force myself to wait a bit since 5:30 is busy there – last minute pick-ups etc.
5:30 pm. Highway sign on the Edens, north of the Botanic Gardens, says an hour and 20 minutes to the Kennedy. Not all the way downtown – just to the Kennedy…
5:35 pm. Call and speak with a staff who says J was signed out at 5:25. Tell myself I don’t need to call back to make sure the signature is Tracy’s. Wish that Darius was following up on it, since he’s getting out of work too but a lot closer to the afterschool program than Lake Forest!
5:45 pm. Begin the Off Road Adventure of taking the streets through Winnetka, Wilmette, Skokie, Evanston, and finally my neighborhood, all in heavy rain, after dark, and being kept awake mainly by listening to an old SugarCubes CD.
6:35 pm. Call Tracy to tell her I’m in Albany Park and should get to her in about 20 minutes. Was aiming for 6:30 pick-up of J. at her house. Oh well. Find out neither she nor the afterschool teacher realized J’s rain boots were in his see-through plastic backpack. So he soaked his shoes and pants into sponges.
6:55 pm. Get to Tracy’s to find a totally peaceful J. dressed in Tracy’s oversized sweater clipped with a barrette to keep it on him, and her beautiful striped knee socks. He looks adorable and is playing with her roommate’s web cam on her laptop. I feel like just staying put, but had not thought to change our usual Tuesday night plan with Darius, who calls at 7 from my house to see if j and I are on our way. We venture back into the rain to go home.
7:10 pm. I’m taking J’s soaked clothes and shoes out of his bag to dry them over chair backs, while starting dinner for the 3 of us. I’m fantasizing about having walked in to find Darius brought take-out over. It does not instantaneously appear no matter how hard I imagine. Apparently I should have tried asking directly. Foolish as always, I kept thinking it’d be obvious that my day was too long to be expected to also cook dinner for 3 (since Tuesday is one of Darius’ nights to visit.) I steam slightly. Not because I’m a vegetable, but because while I’m at the stove, J and his daddy are in my room on my computer playing online kids’ games and having a blast.
9:30 pm. Start getting J. ready for bed. Wash something, brush something, unpack my numerous bags of supplies. Do some more remote control stuff after he goes to sleep, like cleaning up dinner dishes and feeding cats. Sudoku.
More Sudoku. I don't know why -- maybe I ran out of chocolate.
Somewhere around 11 or 12 I go to sleep. I think so, anyway.
12:45 am. Stop being a perfectionist and let the dang red batch just be pink already. Gender stereotypes, go away!
1:00 am. Email Stagecoach principal and NSSRA contact with report on last week’s class, and my progress in finding an assistant (miraculous since it pays $10/class.) Hide anger that neither of them were there at all last week to support or observe, despite it being in a remote location with several safety issues. Also hide anger that I was never given a curriculum for the classes so I’ve spent weeks over days over hours researching “performing arts for special needs” plus lesson planning plus material collecting (and cooking. See “12:00 entry.)
1:26 am. Write parent of my son’s classmate with details about her coming to the NSSRA class as my regular assistant.
1:34 am. Write Tracy with details of our pick-up arrangement for Jelani Tues evening.
2:30ish am. Give up on reading all the evil there is to know about Sarah Palin and turn in.
7:30 am. Get up. The usual morning routine – dressing, feeding cats, cleaning litter boxes, a sudoku while on the toilet, preparing breakfasts and lunches to go for both J. and myself. Plus packing all the materials for the NSSRA class with a change of clothes (can’t teach class in filthy cat hair smeared scrubs.) Change plans several times of what else is needed since it is raining, and J. will be walking outside quite a bit mid-day.
9:30 am. Carry a most reluctant J. (whom I dressed manually) and both our backpacks plus 4 bags of materials for class down 3 flights of stairs, along with the garbage to go out. Eventually stuff everything/body in (except the garbage) into the Clown Car, I mean Celica, and drive him to school. Arrive late as usual.
11:00ish am. Arrive at work to begin just under 4 hours (Blessed Be! A short day!) of cage cleaning, floor sweeping and mopping (“did you move all the furniture?”,) supply hauling (love those 20 and 40 pound bags of cat food and litter,) cleaning vomit and feces off couches, trying to avoid cross-contamination between various cat rooms and cages, pick up somebody else’s lunch and pay for it with my money, hoping to get reimbursed. Two different work sites is becoming the norm – with not enough time at the first to complete tasks before going to the other. The usual fun. For $10/hr. Don’t think I got directly yelled at, name-called or condescended to today. My two reminders about getting reimbursed for lunch go unanswered.
2:00 pm. Get a call from my assistant that she cannot start today due to car breakdown.
3:00 pm. Leave work to head up to Lake Forest/Highland Park border area for my class, cursing part of the way because I never got back the $20 I spent on the boss's (and her husband's) lunch. Downpour is causing crazy sluggishness, but I still arrive at 3:45pm for my 4:00 class. Sit in the car 10 minutes waiting for the administrator with keys to arrive, then realize the public bathroom is open so I can change my clothes in there while I wait. “Reinforcements arrive” at…
3:57 pm. I go inside to begin setting up the room – challenges include blocking an outside door to keep one child who likes to escape from succeeding; keeping my activity materials close at hand for quick transitions from one activity to the next (but without making things visible before ready to be used, since I have to wrestle my items out of one child’s hands over and over. End up wearing one of my backpacks DURING the class in order to keep some materials out of their reach until needed.)
5:00 pm. Start wrap-up activities with students. Despite playdough up someone’s nose, no assistant, and pouring rain, class went well this week. Most of the students can even name something they enjoyed today.
5:15 pm. Start packing up my 5 or 6 bags (of drums+ scarves + playdough + bingo + lions, tigers…) as students are picked up. Close up the room with the last child, and wait outside with him on the picnic benches a few moments till parent arrives. Traffic is horrid, she warns me.
5:25 pm. Just getting a taste of that horrid rain traffic. Wanting to call J’s afterschool program to see if he’s been picked up by Tracy, but force myself to wait a bit since 5:30 is busy there – last minute pick-ups etc.
5:30 pm. Highway sign on the Edens, north of the Botanic Gardens, says an hour and 20 minutes to the Kennedy. Not all the way downtown – just to the Kennedy…
5:35 pm. Call and speak with a staff who says J was signed out at 5:25. Tell myself I don’t need to call back to make sure the signature is Tracy’s. Wish that Darius was following up on it, since he’s getting out of work too but a lot closer to the afterschool program than Lake Forest!
5:45 pm. Begin the Off Road Adventure of taking the streets through Winnetka, Wilmette, Skokie, Evanston, and finally my neighborhood, all in heavy rain, after dark, and being kept awake mainly by listening to an old SugarCubes CD.
6:35 pm. Call Tracy to tell her I’m in Albany Park and should get to her in about 20 minutes. Was aiming for 6:30 pick-up of J. at her house. Oh well. Find out neither she nor the afterschool teacher realized J’s rain boots were in his see-through plastic backpack. So he soaked his shoes and pants into sponges.
6:55 pm. Get to Tracy’s to find a totally peaceful J. dressed in Tracy’s oversized sweater clipped with a barrette to keep it on him, and her beautiful striped knee socks. He looks adorable and is playing with her roommate’s web cam on her laptop. I feel like just staying put, but had not thought to change our usual Tuesday night plan with Darius, who calls at 7 from my house to see if j and I are on our way. We venture back into the rain to go home.
7:10 pm. I’m taking J’s soaked clothes and shoes out of his bag to dry them over chair backs, while starting dinner for the 3 of us. I’m fantasizing about having walked in to find Darius brought take-out over. It does not instantaneously appear no matter how hard I imagine. Apparently I should have tried asking directly. Foolish as always, I kept thinking it’d be obvious that my day was too long to be expected to also cook dinner for 3 (since Tuesday is one of Darius’ nights to visit.) I steam slightly. Not because I’m a vegetable, but because while I’m at the stove, J and his daddy are in my room on my computer playing online kids’ games and having a blast.
9:30 pm. Start getting J. ready for bed. Wash something, brush something, unpack my numerous bags of supplies. Do some more remote control stuff after he goes to sleep, like cleaning up dinner dishes and feeding cats. Sudoku.
More Sudoku. I don't know why -- maybe I ran out of chocolate.
Somewhere around 11 or 12 I go to sleep. I think so, anyway.
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